The scab is doing its healing work.
Or rather, it is doing its protecting work while we heal.
Only it knows how long that will take.
When we pick at it, in impatience, boredom, or lack of faith, we run the risk of creating a scar.
Sitting in my garden this morning, I know that each breath of cool air is a gift.
Soon will be the days when before 8:30 am or after 8:30 pm will be the easiest time for me to be out.
And the days of sweating endlessly, sometimes in the middle of the night. And of mangoes falling from the sky. And lychees everywhere. The ocean will turn delightfully warm and then... the rain. The rain that turns the jungle bright green and pours chaos on everything, and feels as though a silent alliance has just been signed between all humans living here, a vow to keep on keeping on and laugh through it all.
This morning is divine.
There is something holy about sharing chapters with our adult children.
For the last three weeks my youngest son, his lovely love, my pup, and cat, and I have spent time at my tiny place in Mexico. We have had Earl Grey tea with honey in the mornings, quiet hammock times of reading and writing (although I often feel that I am not quiet for long enough), cooked, made stuff, explored waterfalls and jungle paths, eaten fried chicken and goat stew - and more. We have brainstormed ideas for the new casita I am building here and talked about potential places our lives may decide to adventure.
There is, of course, a deep family-iarity. A whimsical symmetry. Love, too.
I see my son’s strong adult body and remember changing his last diaper. I see my own softening body and wonder what will happen if I ever need mine changed.
I know life is moving and if all goes well, I am closer to the end of mine than he to his.
I treasure this time when we are still both strong adults, interested in the world, participating in it, and dreaming up future plans.
I also know that this seeming balance is fragile, that it can tip in a moment through a word misunderstood, a tired remark, a sharp decision.
I have seen myself retreat from my mom in the last years of her life because I had to make a tough choice - and I see now, that she did too. We each chose our kid and in doing so, lost each other.
I pray that this never happens to me and I am humble enough to know that it could.
So yes, precious. Delicious. Holy.
So very darn holy.
SCARED OF THE SACRED